


Requiem

by sunsetmog



Category: Lord of the Rings RPF
Genre: Drug Use, F/M, Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-02-23
Updated: 2006-02-23
Packaged: 2017-10-31 01:29:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/338400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunsetmog/pseuds/sunsetmog
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the drugs hit and he started to see the world through a series of fragmented, brittle dimensions, she was there, everywhere, right in front of him, crystallised and broken and always fucking there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Requiem

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted [here in February 2006.](http://sunsetmog-fics.livejournal.com/23947.html)

Elijah tried not to ring her. He tried not to call her when he felt like this, when he felt like he couldn't keep up the tense, brittle wall that they'd built between the two of them. He tried not to email her, or bring her up in conversation, or think about those times that they'd broken that self-same wall down, and pressed against each other with words that tore at each other's breath and whispered away their clothing. 

Instead, he smiled so hard he thought his face would break. He arranged the biggest nights out with the biggest number of cast members and the biggest rounds of drinks he could put on his credit card. He downed shots and insinuated himself onto the dance floor, pressing himself up against people he couldn't even focus on. He kissed people he couldn't see, and fucked them with eyes that glittered like crystallised stone. 

He dragged people off the dance floor and pushed his way into them in dark, filthy corners, down dark, stinking fetid alleys where the filth stained his jeans and he ended up crying out pressed against someone he couldn't even bear to look at. 

He twisted his way into friendships he shouldn't have gone near; he had acquaintances who fitted him up so he could fuck a whole weekend away without once having to think. His eyes grew wider and the shadows darker; the make up required to make him look fresh faced and fancy free grew thicker and more intense. Dom watched him from under hooded eyes, and they all tried to hold him back as he knocked back pills and alcohol every weekend. 

But it didn't matter how many people Elijah fucked, how many weekends he spent so fucked-up he couldn't remember his own name, how many nights he spent smoking weed in the twisted shadows of his own home. It didn't matter a fucking damn, because all he could fucking see was her face. She laughed at him as he went down on his knees in front of some guy in an alley, she smiled as he fucked some druggie girl with eyes like glass in a scruffy bedsit. When the drugs hit and he started to see the world through a series of fragmented, brittle dimensions, she was there, everywhere, right in front of him, crystallised and broken and always fucking _there_. 

He started to get angry, to clench his fists to stop himself from ringing her, from begging her to get over here so he could fuck her so hard he'd forget how low he'd sunk. He cried sometimes, desperate and angry and hating himself so much it hurt. When he finally fell asleep, he woke up with the taste of her on his lips, his erection sore and red and just as angry as he was. 

Elijah remembered that first time, when they'd been so drunk they'd just melded into each other, lying flat out on his bed, and Elijah had been hard pressed to figure out which were his limbs and which were hers. They'd held hands, reaching up and trying to figure out whose fingers were whose. Everything had felt loose, her legs wrapped up in his. He hadn't been hard then, not even when they'd laughed and laughed and giggled and he'd reached over to touch the red wine stains on her lips. She'd licked his finger whilst they laughed; he'd leaned in and let his forehead rest against hers. 

He'd kissed her as an extension of himself, that first time. A final join between two bodies so close they needed to become one. She'd giggled against his mouth, humming against his lips. He'd tasted the red wine on her tongue and wanted so much more that the intensity of it burnt him. 

They kissed with open mouths and loose tongues, shifting on the bed as sibling love gave way to something more. It was open and it was easy and as they rolled over, her dress rolled up over her thighs. He touched her on the soft curve of her ass, where her panties twisted damply against his shorts. 

He'd been hard by then. Hard and desperate and so drunk he couldn't peel the smile off his face. Her makeup had smudged, eyeliner down her cheekbone and her hair sticking up where it had escaped the barrettes. _You're beautiful_ , he'd murmured, running a finger down her cheek, and she'd shivered, rubbing herself against his erection. _Not as beautiful as you_ , she'd told him, and started to laugh as she rolled over and pulled off her panties. He'd unbuttoned her dress with clumsy, happy, drunken fingers until finally, she'd slipped out of it, small breasts in his hands, and he'd laughed so much he couldn't help but kiss her again. 

She'd been so wet that he'd slid inside of her like a knife into warm, slippery butter, and she'd ridden him slowly, with her mouth pressed to his and words lost between the two of them. Words that were theirs, theirs and no one else's, and would belong to this moment and no other. Words that meant that this moment had to be acknowledged, had to exist, had to be hidden away. 

Elijah had touched her like he would an angel, rolling them over and letting her sink down onto the quilt, where he slowly kissed his way from nipple to breastbone to nipple, then down her stomach to her belly button. He'd licked his way from the curve at the back of her knee right up the pale, pale skin of her inner thigh, until his tongue found the subtle difference in taste, where it became darker and muskier. Hannah had breathed his name out onto the evening air, and he'd fucked her again, slowly, heavily, desperately, drunkenly, beautifully. 

In the morning, she'd gone, and they tried never to speak of it again, tried to never let themselves be alone and drunk and desperate for each other again. 

And now, when he was in New Zealand and she was somewhere across the other side of the world, he fucked his way through a queue of people who didn't give a shit about him, and he cried her name against their mouths. 

He gave in one Friday night when the drugs really didn't work any more. When the crystallised visions fragmented and broke, and the world looked relatively normal. He rang her, and when she answered, she said _fuck you_. 

_Fuck you_ , he said, and he was torn between tears and an anger so base, so vicious and so painful it fucking ripped his heart apart. 

_Fuck you_ , she said again. _Fuck you for not being here._

_Fuck you for not being here_ , he told her, not listening to her. 

_Fuck you for letting this happen_ , they both said, and they cried. 

_I hate you_ , he told her, and he was hard. 

_Not as much as I hate you_ , she told him, and her breath was rushed. 

_Come here_ , Elijah begged, _please_. 

_Let me come over,_ Hannah pleaded, at the same time. _So, we're completely fucked up and we deserve each other. I don't care anymore._

_I don't deserve you_ , Elijah said, and he stared down at his fucked up jeans and his filthy hands and at his glassy eyes in the mirror. 

_I'm all broken_ , she said. 

Me too, he said, and he bought her a plane ticket. 

They fucked to the sound of Mozart's _requiem_ , and Elijah hated everything in the whole fucking world apart from her, apart from Hannah beneath him, and they came so desperately that they clung to each other, skin sticky and hot and tasting like wine in the darkness.


End file.
